A Blog By Me

I would like to think that men and women can just be platonic friends, I really would since the vast majority of my friends are of the opposite gender, but it’s always in the back of my mind (and usually comes true) that the male friend always wants more. It’s rather disappointing, and almost trust betraying, not to mention annoying.

Their my friends for a reason, if I wanted to date them, I would. If I wanted to sleep with them, I would, but I don’t, I want them in that category for a reason. They mean a lot more to me than just a fuck.

Losing a friend because they have feelings that are not reciprocated is almost as bad as losing a friend over bad blood, nothing is the same ever again once that line has been crossed. I don’t like being put on the spot, and I don’t like being put into a situation where I know the feelings are not mutual. I trust the friends that I have, and though a couple unfortunate incidents, have lost a couple when the feelings on either party have moved over the line of platonic to romantic.

In a sense, I have stopped trusting a few of my friends because I was recently (fuck it over and over) put into just a situation where the other party wanted more than I could possibly give. All the red flags were there, fuck it, the damn things were fucking banners, but in my mind, I thought if I could just ignore them, we could carry on our happy little friendship and everything would be okay. Not so, if a person decides they want to push that envelope they better be damn fucking sure they can deal with the repercussions and the consequences of it.

I try very hard not to get into situations that I can not control, as anyone should to a certain extent, but really, it’s fucking annoying. What the fuck, do I need to have a fucking contract for my guy friends? Do I have to sort out which one’s I’ll fuck around with occasionally, and keep them separate from those I wouldn’t touch with ten foot pole? You, you go in that pen, you, you go in that one. Call me shallow, that’s how it is. I find the best friendships I have are the ones that never, and will never get to that point because I know in the back of my head, that friend values what we have more than they value a fuck or a relationship. Those are the friends I stay in touch with, those are the friends who I feel most comfortable around.

I’m getting sick of having to analyze and question my friends motives for being friends with me. Did they do whatever because they genuinely care about me, or did they do it in order to try and get me to think differently about them? Tough shit, you’re staying where you are and there is nothing you can do about to change my mind, and if that line is pushed even more, I have no qualms about cutting you out of my life. I hate to have this attitude, I really do, I wish I could feel totally at ease with all my guy friends, my friends are a major safety net for me, I owe them all a lot, but when push comes to shove, at the end of the day, it’s my dignity, my self preservation, not theirs.

You would think, I drowned a kitten in my past life. Maybe I kicked some puppies too. Or laughed at a homeless person. Because GOD FUCKING KNOWS THIS SHIT HAS GOT TO FUCKING STOP. I need good karma. This was my fucking Friday night. I shit thee not………..

“So Angry, have you met Whats-His-Face?”

I’m hanging out with my friend Di and her new beau. Who, until this point, I was under the impression I had never met before. And then the motherfucker turned around. And my jaw dropped. Not only is he hot, not only is he funny, charming and intelligent. He’s also one of my Ex’s. And I left him for his best friend. Not a good ending.

Fuck. Di, at this time, didnt know a thing. I planned on keeping it that way. God help me, if I had to scalp, skin and eat everyone who knew. I had every intention of making sure she didn’t know that her current flavor of the month was my flavor of the week. For weeks. I don’t think much about it. I know she doesn’t either. Its not friendship ending, but it’s one thing to share clothes, its another to know that you are sharing at one point, the same boy toy, and one of your close friends is fixing on your sloppy seconds.

So the night drags on, between shooting glances at Whats-his-face, and polishing off my third glass of wine, I go out for a ciggy. Whats-His-Face follows me out.

“Soo, how’ve you been?” He asks

“Ohh, pretty good, and yourself?”

Small idle chit chat turns into what was really a needed topic of discussion.

He “Hey, so I think it would be best for both of us if Di doesn’t know about us, I don’t want to fuck things up with her, ya know?“

Thank you sweet Lord.

“Oh yea, that’s fine, juuuuust fine.” Says I

Who walks up the side walk just then? The best friend.

This is right around I throw up a little in the back of my throat. Actually I wish I did, it would have made for a perfect excuse for me to leave. You know your town is small when you have two ex’s in one bar. He doesnt see me when he walks in, so I duck in behind him and try to beat him to the table. I manage to pull up right beind him and unfortunatly between the three glasses of wine, and my nerves, I give him a flat tire. He turns around.

“Angry! Whoa, hi! How have you been?” Big hug. Oh good.This is going well.

“Great, wonderful, hey look, Whats-His-Face is here with a friend of mine, and my friend doesnt know that he and I dated, if you see him, could you not mention it? Please?“

“Hey, funny, I’m here to meet her, you’re hanging with them too?“

Oh fuck.

Then a funny look.

“Does it really matter?”

“Eh, he asked me to keep it on the DL…so I think it does”

“Eh, whatever, fine.“

So, we chit chat, after I explain that Di doesn’t know, and if he could keep mum about the whole slutty situation, I’ll convert to Islam and never have sex again. Fine, excellent. The night progresses with lots of laughter, lots of shots, and a rousing game of pass the ice. Until

Best Friend: “Dude tell her (Di) when you ‘n Angry got busted at the lake, and you lost your trunks…”

Di shoots Whats-His-Face and I a quizzled look

“You two know each other…?“

Whats-His-Face “Oh we had some mutual friends…..“

Leave it at that, the night ends on what I thought was a good, I go home and get the following text

‘It wld be nice to kno tht u and Whats-His-Face use 2 b an item, y did u lie 2 me?‘

I didn’t lie, I just decided to omit a small fact. Which would have been fine and fuckin dandy if dumbass Best Friend didn’t drink so frikken much.

Being the only year round employee here, I get to make my own schedule. Works to my benefit most of the time, I get the hours I want, and the days off I want. Recently, Boss Man has been putting a lot of pressure on me to make sure every aspect of the store is either covered by myself or he. Boss Man has a lot on his plate, and can’t be here 100% of the time, which leave a lot of the time on my lap.
Like 95 hours of time. Over the span of two weeks. Which leaves me with 50 some odd hours a week in the store. I love my job, I’m not bitching about having to work the long ten hour days, but I’m not looking forward to the burn out. Every August, there is this phenomenon that hits locals here called Augustitis. Burn out. Past three summers in a row, usually the last two weeks in August, I would wake up either and begin crying or just sit on the edge of the tub with the shower going just staring at the wall. Just two weeks, then I’m ok. Those are a really fucking long ass two weeks. This week I worked on both my days off.

I think my Augustitis has flared up early. I’m experiencing all the symptoms.

1. Irritability (more than usual)

2. Shakes due to raw nerves and increased caffeine intake. I normally drink 1-2 cups of coffee a day, now it’s up to 2-4. Ten hour days in the store are very boring, which makes you sleepy, which makes you crave java.

3. Bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep, due to increased caffeine intake.
(”Angry are you high??” “Gnuuuuh……”)

4. Decreased sex drive from lack of sleep due to long hours in the store and increased caffeine intake.

5. Weight loss due to lack of time being home and preparing own meals and having to eat wraps and salads everyday twice a day. I stepped on the scale this morning and screamed.

6. Feeling of impending doom. No, it’s not depression, or a terminal disease, it’s that nasty heavy feeling you get when you walk into a court room and you know your going to be taken away in cuffs. That’s the feeling I get when I pull into the parking lot.

7. Serious nose dive in active social life, and sharp increase of consumption of red wine. Either that or Xanex.

8. Poor coordination due to lack of sleep, increase in wine intake, and overload of caffeine and cigarettes.

9. Poor judgment. Fuck it, I have poor judgment anyhow.

10. Pale skin. Due to lack of time at the beach.

If you, or anyone you know, has been experiencing the aforementioned symptoms, PROMPTLY do the following:

1. Do not allow them (or yourself) to go to work. It’s called a “mental health day”

2. Go for a walk

3. Break something. Preferably not the DVD player, like Roommate did the other night.

4. Avoid anyone who IS NOT a local.

Tenerme adesso devo sentire che il sollievo

Come io non ha mai voluto niente suppongo lascerò questo va e
trovare una ragione che terrò su a sono cosí vergognoso di sconfitta

E sono fuori di ragione di credere in me
sono fuori di tentare di prendere da

Sono cosí impaurito del regalo lei me dà non appartengo qui e sono bene non sono cosí vergognoso della bugia
che vivo

Giustamente sullo sbagliato lato di tutto

Non mie posso si affrontare quando sveglia E guarda in uno specchio che sono cosí vergognoso di quella cosa
suppongo lo lascerò va

Untill ho qualcosa più dire per me sono cosí impaurito di sconfitta

E sono fuori di
ragione di credere in me sono fuori di tentare di sfidare

Sono cosí impaurito del regalo lei me dà non appartengo qui e sono bene non sono cosí vergognoso della bugia
che vivo

Giustamente sullo sbagliato lato di tutto

Tenerme adesso devo sentire completo Come importo all’un ho bisogno di

Sono cosí impaurito del regalo lei me dà non appartengo qui e sono bene non sono cosí vergognoso della bugia
che vivo

Giustamente sullo sbagliato lato di tutto

Adesso mi vergogno di questo sono cosí vergognoso di quest’Adesso sono cosí vergognoso di me sono cosí
vergognoso di me…

Song, ‘The Gift’, Seether

Couple things, one, if you live in an apartment complex that has a court yard, keep in mind that if you can see in to the adjacent windows, they can see you. Case in point (some years ago) Ex and I are sitting in the couch, which, over looked the court yard. With nice big windows. I asked him to close the shades. He gets up. I hear this.

“Heh, hey, go get my binoculars, their behind the drivers side seat.”

“Whats up?” Get up, walk over, look into the court yard.

“See the window right there?” He points directly across to the apartment across from us

“Yea.”

“I think, that’s a telescope, go get my binoculars.”

I go get them.

Pressing them to his eyes he says

“When was the last time we had sex on the couch?”

The dude had the telescope pointed directly at our apartment, into our living room. I’m sure there were times he saw me walking around butt ass naked. And there were definitely times he got an eyeful when Ex and I had our fun time on the couch. Shades? Close them? Right. That was a hard lesson to learn. Harder for our peeping tom, since Ex pounded the crap outta him. And then got arrested. So, two lessons learned, one, don’t be a psycho stalker and spy on your neighbors, two, don’t beat up a public defender.

Also, I’ve taken a page out of several celebrities books and have decided I’m not getting married until a man can kiss another dude and not gross out other men, and wear a dress and not get the shit knocked silly out of them all the fuck over the place. So, all you bible thumping, alter boy sucking, red tie wearing pricks, KEEP IT THE FUCK UP.

Rheumatoid Arthritis is a systemic disease that causes the swelling of the synovial lining, causing pain, and swelling around the joint, leading to other unhappy problems. It affects 2.1 million Americans, I am one of them.
While the exact cause of RA is unknown, one theory is it is caused by a viral infection, (such as meningitis which I had this past winter, if anyone ever wants to get knocked on their ass, get this shit, it’s fucking pissa), another theory is that it isn’t a disease, but several with the same affects.

RA is characterized as an autoimmune disease due to the fact that people with RA have an abnormal immune system. Immune system? Whats that? Oooh riiiight…People with RA have a defunk immune system, it attacks healthy cells. happy happy joy joy. Which makes your joints (currently my left ankle, and both my knees) swell up like a fucking grapefruit, or making normal movement next to impossible. Try being a model when you look like a stick with marshmallows for joints. Fucking hot shit man.

I first noticed something was wrong this past winter with my feet, thinking that it was just an old injury, I let it slide, and eventually went to my Dr and got an improper diagnosis. Shortly thereafter, I was in the ER getting a lumbar puncture, also know as a spinal tap. I got a total of four of these suckers. etcetera etcetera blah fucking blah. I have RA, it’s not AIDS, I’m not going to die. Unfortunately.

The problem is/was with the situation, aside from the fact that I kept putting off going to the Drs, were the Drs themselves. The Islands health care community is a fucking joke. I know more EMT/Medics who can give an accurate diagnosis than my Gynecologist (you will be sued too you mother fucker, I WANT MY OVARY BACK) Aside from four (you should really only have one) LP’s (lumbar punctures) the Dr’s felt compelled to insist that I had HIV, if not full blown AIDS. As someone with a habit of sticking needles in my body, and my…sexual preferences, this isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. After the tests were run, and they came back negative (and I nearly passed out) I heard what I never thought I would hear a health care provider say, which would be “I have no clue what you have, but it’s serious.”Ok, lets see, I know that you don’t know what I have, but you could at least pretend to have the situation underfucking control you pricks.

I was exibiting all the wonderful symptoms of RA:

• Fatigue (really it’s NOT my insomnia??)

• Stiffness, particularly in the morning and when sitting for long periods of time. Typically, the longer the morning stiffness lasts, the more active your disease is. (There are days I blame it on drinking too….shame)

• Weakness (I’m Super Jew godfuckingdamnit)

• Flu-like symptoms, including a low-grade fever (they thought I had AIDS, was meningitis/RA)

• Pain associated with prolonged sitting (And here I thought I had ADD)

• The occurrence of flares of disease activity followed by remission or disease inactivity (This is fun, on….off….on….off….off….off….ON ON ON ON. Kill me. Please.)

• Muscle pain (I’m not active enough to complain about sore muscles…)

• Loss of appetite, depression, weight loss, anemia, cold and/or sweaty hands and feet (So I’m NOT anorexic?!)

• Involvement of the glands around the eyes and mouth, causing decreased production of tears and saliva (Sjögren’s syndrome) (This is actually pretty scary)

After several trips off Island the big ol’ city of Boston, I finally got an accurate diagnosis. To which my response what “How, I’m 22″ After they explained six ways from Sunday just exactly what RA is, I was sent packing with the following options for treatment. Which I promptly told to fuck off and decided to take a more….holistic approach, which made shit almost as bad as it was before.

NSAIDS -Nonsteroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drugs, Since lots of fun painkillers, which won’t be prescribed to me by any physician in their right mind, I get to stick with shit like aspirin, and ibuprofens. NSAIDS are non narcotic anti inflammatory meds.

Prednisone, which is used to slow the damage of the joints, but doesn’t always, depending on the severity of RA. Prednisone is kinda one of those ‘fix it all’ drugs, much like Nurontin, or Welbutrin. The side effects alone make me prefer the RA over it.
DMARDs/Biologic Response Modifiers
These drugs directly modify the immune system by inhibiting these proteins called cytokines, which contribute to inflammation. Quickie list includes : etanercept, infliximab, adaliumumab and anakinra, and if anyone other than myself can correctly pronounce those names, I’ll give you a dollar.

Protein-A Immuoadsorption Therapy – This shit actually isn’t a drug, it’s a type of therapy that filters your blood to remove antibodies and immune complexes that promote inflammation. Again, this shit isn’t fun.

There are days when I flare when I can’t get out of bed. But I made a deliberate decision to not take the above mentioned treatments and drugs, and chose to take an alternative approach to those problems, which, should anyone ever decide to do so, keep in mind that some alternative approaches are not always safe and beneficial, and can make the problem worse. I know this now. Listen to your health care provider if they strongly suggest a Western approach, a good health care provider will have an open mind to your wishes, and most will work with alternative treatments. Find a happy medium.

Also, mixing Vodka and Tequila will not only make you vomit, but it will induce a sudden and deep coma that, even a severe beating will not break.

I saw Transformers last night with my friend John and was pleasantly surprised by it. I actually really liked this flick. A few interesting tidbits provided by imdb.com

• The camouflage uniform that Captain Lennox and his squad are wearing is the Multicam uniform of the Army’s Future Force Warrior system, part of the Future Combat Systems project.
  
• When Sam is talking to Mikaela in the car he says “you’re more than meets the eye,” a nod to the toy line’s slogan “more than meets the eye.”
  
• For the scene with Scorponok bursting out from the sand and attacking the soldiers, the effect was achieved by detonating primer cord under the sand. The explosions would be in close proximity and very dangerous to the actors in the scene so before the scene was filmed, Michael Bay told the actors to run and keep running no matter what happens or else they could seriously be injured or even worse, killed. As a result, the look of panic on the actors’ faces as they flee from Scorponok in this scene is 100% genuine.
• The US government supplied planes and assistance to the production.
• To portray the sentient cars, stunt drivers wore black and balaclavas to conceal themselves from view.
• Barricade’s side reads; “To punish and enslave” rather than “To protect and serve”. (if you didn’t catch that you suck, even I caught that.

I didn’t exactly grow up being exposed to Transformers or the like, but I really liked this flick and I’m glad a bunch of my friends got on my ass to see it.

I recently found myself in bed with someone who, almost directly after sex, asked me if I wanted a cookie. Right. Now, this wouldn’t have been so frikken weird if not for two facts:

A) he’s 15 years my senior (yes Jake, I am a slut)
B) he made several comments about hair pulling and choking

“What, no choking?,” he asked.

“No, no choking,” I replied.

“You’re no fun,” he said.

“No, I just don’t trust you - there’s a difference.”

This, AFTER he made a comment about me not wanting kids.

Alright, here’s the thing: I’m fine with pillow talk, and jabberwocky type conversations post-sex, but there’s really is no reason to be such a fucking freak. I went from being one man’s midlife crisis to another’s chew toy, which is fine with me. I would rather be the latter on any given day, but all I want is a normal fucking boyfriend.

I was with BF#1 a few nights ago, all snuggled up on the couch, got up and went into the bathroom. Upon looking in the mirror, I saw a significant amount of brown (and slightly glittery) smudges on my neck where his face had been several minutes prior. BF#1, in all his Metrosexual glory, uses brow liner. You know, EYELINER FOR YOUR EYEBROWS. Turns out he fucked up his brows while tweezing them, and is using the brown pencil to cover up his mistake. Right.

My first boyfriend wears make up, my other boyfriend is a fucking lunatic, and my fuck buddy is a goddamn pedophile. In the words of Helen Hunt “Why can’t I have a normal boyfriend?! Just a regular boyfriend, one that doesn’t go nuts on me?!”

I have been trying for weeks to catch Russian #1 doing something she shouldn’t. I finally did. And the grounds for dismissal are absolute and final. Or so I thought. Boss Man won’t hear of it, and much to my chagrin, dealt with it his “own way” rather than giving her ass the boot, and she’s staying. Unfortunately, I can’t exactly publish what R#1 did, it wasn’t stealing, but it was something along those lines, and should it have been me, I would have gotten my ass booted. I’m so glad I have ethics. This shit pisses me off. The man gives too many fucking chances and I’m frikken sick of it. But, I have the ability to make R#1’s life hell while working here, so as of today, the following changes (sabotage missions) will take place…
1. I make the schedule. Guess who’s getting a nasty cut in her hours?
2. By law, if you work over X amount of hours, employees have to get X amount of time for a break. Guess who’s going to be working just under X amount of time, with no break??
3. Back on to the schedule, guess who isn’t getting time off they want? Maybe I won’t giver her days off period.
4. Shit jobs, including, cleaning the bathroom (with out gloves. I’m allergic to latex, so this will be my excuse), taking out the trash, cleaning the entire store twice a week, and stripping the windows. All jobs that I loath, but must do. But not for long.

5. While on the clock: No more Internet. Period. No more reading books. Period.

I will be on her ass for every minute she is tardy, which is quite often. If she’s not here by the time I am here in the morning, which is fifteen minutes prior to opening, she will not be allowed to clock in for the time she is late. Example, if she is ten minutes late, she has to wait another ten minutes to clock in. Twenty minutes. This time adds up quick. I’m here on the early side, at the end of each pay week, I have an extra hour on my time card, just for being early. I love my job.

6. No sitting. My girlfriend Bisi use to tell me “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.” Here’s a rag bitch, get to it.
7. No speaking in Russian. I don’t fucking care. ENGLISH ONLY.
8. No using the store phone to make int’l calls back to Russia. (She uses a calling card)

9. Her sales will be down also. I will be taking those, thank you very fucking much. All I have to do is stand at the register when she walks up with whatever product, take it from her, and ring it up under my number. If she has a problem with this, tough fucking shit, when Boss Man isn’t here, I am fucking God, end of fucking story.

10. She will be late to her second job at least twice a week. She leaves when I fucking say she leaves

I am not abusing my responsibilities/power as manager (or ‘assistant’ as Boss Man has titled me) I am simply teaching this lil shit a lesson.

The nice side to all this, Russian #2 (my fave) and myself will be getting a nice increase in hours, and a lot of little shit will be taken care of at the hands of R#1.

I will be calling Florida, and Cali on the store phone  to speak to my siblings in front of R#1 on a daily basis. Making it a point to say “Hows Cali/Florida/Random State Random Friends Live in”

I will be making messes just so she will have to clean them up.
(already did that today with a bottle of edge kote, and leather care, which BTW looks like jizz, the leather care, not the edge kote, edge kote looks like back dye)

I will be sitting on my ass in front of the computer while she has to wait on customers. Kinda like what I am doing right now.

I will be locking her out of the store if she is not on time. This will happen. I will MAKE it happen even if I have to change all the fucking clocks in the fucking store.

I love my job.

Sick of blogger, moving here. Yay.